The Lost and the Found
by WittyRavenclawWriter
Summary: Molly Hooper is trying to forget about a past she can't escape. Sam and Dean have been searching for their run-away-sister Elizabeth for the past fourteen years. But where do demons fit into this picture? And how on Earth is Molly supposed to explain all of this to Sherlock and John? Rated T for some language and a bit of violence, but nothing too bad.
1. Chapter 1

Looking back, Sam supposed that it was at least a little bit humorous that it had been pure dumb luck that morning, not some spell or demon deal. It had been dumb luck that he had logged onto his computer and clicked his web browser with the intention of finding a case for him and Dean. It had been then that the internet opened up to his homepage, a world news website, and he had paused just long enough for something to catch his eye.

It wasn't the flashy headline of the highlighted story that captured his attention; It was the photograph that went along with it. It was an image of a tall man in a long coat who was obviously trying to avoid the camera, with a shorter guy next to him. But it wasn't the two men in the picture that made Sam's eyes widen and his jaw drop stupidly; it was a woman in a white lab coat, almost out of the shot, standing off to the side and looking up in obvious admiration of the tall dude. She was a normal-looking woman no one would ever look twice at. Sam knew her as Elizabeth Winchester, but hardly anyone had thought of that name for a long time. He and Dean had been looking for her for years. She was their sister.

"Oh, my god," Sam said.

"What?" Dean asked, looking up from breakfast.

"Look at this!" Sam turned his laptop around so the screen was facing Dean.

"'Internet Phenomenon Detective Solves Case'?" Dean looked up at Sam with an arched eyebrow, reading the headline. "That doesn't exactly look up our alley, Sam."

"No, the picture!" Sam pointed at the woman.

Dean squinted at the photograph. "Oh, my god," He said after a moment, " _Elizabeth?"_

 _"_ So it is her?" Sam asked excitedly, "I wasn't imagining it?"

"It... it's definitely her," Dean replied in astonishment.

There was a stunned silence from the boys for a moment as they both stared at the photo.

"Where was the picture taken?" Asked Dean finally.

Um…" Sam scrolled through the article for a moment. "London!" He exclaimed.

"London?" Dean repeated, "Like, as in, London, England?"

Sam nodded.

"What the hell is she doing in _London_?" Dean wondered aloud.

"The article has the detective dude's website," Sam informed, "His name's Sherlock Holmes. He has his address on the site."

"Pack your bags, Sam. Looks like we're heading to London."

* * *

"Wow, Molly, you've got a lot of salt in your cupboard!"

Molly turned from her kitchen sink to see her friend Jennifer peering around into one of her cupboards.

"Wrong cupboard!" Molly said, recalling that she had asked Jennifer to grab some sugar for their tea. "Sugar's in that one," she told Jennifer, pointing to the cupboard next to the one Jennifer was rummaging in.

Thankfully, Jennifer didn't comment further on the admittedly large amount of salt that Molly kept in her home. They enjoyed a cup of tea together, but after Jennifer left, Molly opened up the cupboard and sighed as she observed the many bags of salt sitting on the shelves. She really should get rid of it all. She didn't need so much of it. And yet, every time decided to throw it out, she somehow ended up putting it back.

"Better safe than sorry," she would mutter.

Molly hated that she still had bags of salt, jars of holy water, rods of iron, and many other convenient self-defense weapons in her home. She had decided to leave that lifestyle behind a long time ago. But somehow, she just couldn't completely rid herself of her weapons, not after what she knew. She despised this, of course, but there simply was no going back to a time when she was innocent and clueless. She would always be on her guard, she would always need to be armed and ready to fight.

She was running away from it, but she couldn't leave it behind completely.

* * *

 **A/N: So, I'm not really sure where I'm going with this story. I know there are tons of sister fics out there, but I really liked the idea of Sam and Dean having another sibling that we've never seen. This is a really short chapter, more of a test-run, to see what response I get to it. If people seem to like it, I guess I'll continue it. Constructive** **criticism** **is very welcome! I know the writing isn't that good; I just sort of typed this up out of no where, so if anyone thinks they can do a good job beta-ing, please let me know.**


	2. Chapter 2

It was several hours later and one trip on the Angel Castiel Express before Sam and Dean found themselves standing on a rainy street in London, England with Cas next to them.

"Why couldn't we have just zapped _her_ to the States, instead of us to here?" Dean grumbled.

"We can't just ambush her," Sam replied. "Besides, we don't even know where she exactly is. We just know she's somehow connected to that Sherlock Holmes guy."

"Not necessarily," Dean reminded him. "Who knows? It could have been a coincidence that she was in the picture. She might have just been in the right place at the right time."

"Either way, I think we should start with him. He's a detective, right? Even if he doesn't know her, he might be able to help."

"If my services are no longer required, I think I'll be leaving…?" Castiel was looking slightly bored with the whole affair, but you never could tell with him. He didn't seem to grasp the whole "facial expressions mirroring interior emotions" thing.

"Oh, sorry, Cas. Yeah, you can go. Thanks for the lift." Dean said.

"Any time, Dean."

Castiel disappeared.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and found a hotel for them to stay in. They were forced to take a cab, with Dean muttering the whole time about missing his Baby. Sam had a brief moment of panic when he paid the cabbie, due to the fact that he had forgotten to exchange his American dollars for the British currency. Luckily, the cabbie hardly glanced at the bills Sam handed him. They used one of their credit cards to pay for a room.

"Okay, what's our cover?" Asked Sam.

"FBI agents from the U.S. investigating the disappearance of Elizabeth Winchester?" Dean suggested.

"Okay, that sounds good," Sam agreed.

Dean insisted on getting food before they did anything, having not finished his breakfast from earlier. After that, they changed into their suits and pocketed their fake ID's, stepping out into the street.

"So where does this guy live, Sam?" Asked Dean.

Sam glanced at the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper. "Two-two-one B Baker Street," He replied.

They caught a cab, and Sam gave the address. Sam held his breath as he offered his money, hoping to get away with paying with the American dollars again. Unfortunately, this cabbie wasn't as oblivious as the last.

"Hey! These ain't British notes!" He glared at them.

Dean quickly whisked out his FBI badge. "Sir, we're here on official FBI business. We cannot afford to be delayed. I suggest you take the money and say no more or we'll be forced to put you under arrest."

The driver glanced back and forth between the money and Dean's badge. He looked like he wanted wanted to argue, but thought better of it and settled for a nasty glare.

"Yeah, fine," he said gruffly.

They climbed out of the cab and Sam gave Dean a quick smirk. "Nice one," He complimented as he rapped on the door. Dean returned the sly smile quickly and then morphed his facial features to serious and business-like. As the door opened, they both held out their badges. Neither Dean nor Sam knew exactly what they were expecting, but it wasn't the kindly, elderly woman in front of them.

"Oh, hello," She greeted, looking slightly worried. "Can I help you?"

Dean took the lead. "My name is Agent Starr, and this is my partner, Agent Harrison."

The woman looked even more worried at this. "Is there a problem?" She asked.

"Well, we hope not," Sam said, "We're here to speak to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

The old lady looked positively distressed. "Oh, dear. Is he in trouble?"

Dean raised in eyebrow. "Does he have a reason to be?"

Before the now flustered lady could make a response, Sam cut in.

"We're here about a missing person," he told her.

The woman visibly relaxed at this. "Oh, a case! Of course, of course, I'll see if he's busy. Please, come inside." She ushered them through the door, where they stood a bit awkwardly in the entrance as she bustled up the stairs. After a moment, they heard a door open and voices drift down to where they were waiting.

"Sherlock! What in the name of sanity are you doing?"

"John's out grocery shopping, I was bored," replied a deep voice that had to belong to Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes, dear, I can see that. But why have you got an arm on my table?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, wondering if they had heard correctly. The old lady sounded strangely calm, if a little irritated, considering the conversation they had just overheard.

"It's an experiment, Mrs. Hudson, and highly scientific. I'm not going to bother trying to explain to you," Sherlock drawled. "Why are you here, anyways? Don't you have, I don't know, _things_ to do?"

The boys glanced at each other again. They hadn't known the old lady (they had heard her name was Mrs. Hudson) for very long, but this Sherlock Holmes was being awfully rude to her. Surprisingly, she didn't even seem offended.

"There are two Americans downstairs, I think they're detectives of some sort. They're here about a missing person."

"Scotland Yard has Americans now?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know, dear. They didn't say."

"Well, I suppose you should send them up. Even the Americans need my help now!"

The brothers were liking this Holmes guy less and less as they heard him talking. He was sounding less like a genius detective and more like a rude, arrogant jerk.

A moment later, Mrs. Hudson came down the stairs.

"Mr. Holmes will see you now," she told them.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dean said. Sam offered her a courteous nod.

They headed up the stairs, Dean leading the way, and tapped lightly on the door.

"Come in." Sherlock Holmes sounded surprisingly bored for a man being visited by the FBI.

Dean pushed open the door, Sam peering over his shoulder to get a look at the apartment. It was a little messy, and obviously well-lived in, with a number of books and papers scattered about the floor and furniture. It was a rather attractive place, though. The apartment had a had a comfortable and home-y feel to it. That is, except for the fact that the owner of said apartment was sitting at the kitchen table holding a severed human arm. Sherlock Holmes was wearing a bathrobe, his dark, curly hair uncombed and falling into his eyes.

"Oh, hello," He said, his bored tone not changing, "What do you want?"

"You might want to treat us with a little more respect, sir," Sam told him sternly, holding out his badge.

"I'm Agent Starr, this is Agent Harrison. We're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation in the U.S.A. and we're here on the case of a missing person—" Dean began, but was cut off.

"Nope," Sherlock interrupted, hardly glancing up from the arm.

"Sorry?"

"Nope."

The brothers glanced at each other.

"May I ask what you're denying?" Sam asked irritatedly.

"You may."

"Okay, cut the smart-ass," Dean snapped.

Sherlock smirked at him. "The intended meaning of my statement was, no, you are not in fact FBI agents. Please, don't bother denying it," he added as they began opening their mouths, "It's painfully obvious that you are in disguise. Although, next time you try to hoodwink a genius detective with mere fake identification, I'd advise you to begin by _not_ using the names of two members of the Beatles— which, if you didn't know, is one of the most well-known musical groups in the world. Even John would observe the oddness of two partners coincidentally sharing those names."

"I heard my name?" A blonde-haired man carrying bags of groceries walked through the door. "And something about the Beatles?"

"Ah, hello, John. It appears we have a case."

"Right." John glanced warily at the severed arm Sherlock was still grasping. "You haven't— er— done anything to be rude, I hope."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John set his bags down and offered a handshake to Sam and Dean. "I'm John Watson," he introduced himself. "Please, take a seat." He drew two chairs and offered them to the brothers. They lowered themselves into the seats, gawking at Sherlock, who left the arm on the table and sat down as well, with John across him.

"Now, then, tell us why you're here." John instructed kindly.

Surprisingly, Sherlock Holmes stayed quiet instead of informing his partner that the two men in front of them had just tried to fake being FBI agents.

Sam nudged Dean. "Should we tell them…?" He muttered.

Dean shrugged. "I guess."

"Okay," Sam said, louder so that Sherlock and John could hear. "My name is Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Mr. Holmes, you're right; we're not actually with the FBI."

Sherlock smirked. John opened his mouth, no doubt to question Sam's statement, but Sherlock held up a hand, silencing the other man.

"But we are here about a missing person," Sam continued. "Elizabeth Winchester." He paused to look, slightly expectant, at Sherlock and John.

"Never heard of her," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, well, not many people have. She's our sister. We've been looking for her for fourteen years."

Sherlock smirked. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but if your sister has been missing for _fourteen years_ , I'm afraid I can't help you."

Sam went on, ignoring Sherlock. "But the thing is, yesterday, I was looking at the world news, and I saw an article about you."

"Look," John cut in gently, "I know you've probably heard that we can solve any mystery, but the truth is, your sister probably really is gone if you haven't found her after fourteen years."

"There was a photograph, though," Sam pushed on, "of Mr. Holmes. And she was in it."

Sherlock, who's concentration had been wandering elsewhere, suddenly snapped into focus at this.

"You saw her? In a photograph with me?"

Sam nodded.

"And it was definitely her?"

"Yeah, I'd know her anywhere. Dean saw her, too. There's no doubt about it; Elizabeth is alive, and she was in London when that picture was taken."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. It was evident they had his attention now.

"Hm. That's interesting…" He muttered, mostly to himself.

John spoke up then. "When exactly did your sister disappear?" He asked.

"Well, she didn't exactly _disappear,_ " Dean said. "She ran away."

"Really? And you truly haven't heard anything from her in fourteen years?"

Both Winchesters shook their heads.

"She hated the family business. Wanted to be a doctor or something. Ran off practically the moment she turned eighteen, didn't even say goodbye in person to our dad," Dean explained.

"The photograph. Can you find it again?" Asked Sherlock, who had evidently not been following the conversation.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Sam replied.

"Here, use my laptop," John offered, logging in for him.

"Thanks." Sam took the computer and typed in the world news website he had found the article on. It only took him a few minutes to find the story.

"Here it is," he said, showing the screen to Sherlock and John.

"That's her," said Dean, pointing to Elizabeth.

John looked up at him, confusion evident on his face. "But, that can't be her— that's Molly!"

 **A/N: Hello beautiful readers! I apologize for the sort-of-cliffhanger. This chapter was originally supposed to be longer, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer, so I decided to go ahead and post this much. Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed. It truly means a lot to me. I didn't get a chance to reply to any reviews, but I promise I'll make an effort to do so in the future. Thank you so much for reading. Please take time to review, it really boosts my motivation and creativity.**


	3. Chapter 3

Molly pulled off her medical gloves and strode to her locker where her things were stored. She was looking forward to going home and relaxing. Maybe she'd watch TV with her cat, Toby. As she pulled on her jacket, her mobile phone buzzed.

 **(1) UNREAD MESSAGE FROM: Sherlock Holmes**

Undoubtably, he would be asking for another body part. She opened the message.

 **Will be at Bart's shortly. -SH**

Molly read the message in slight confusion. Sherlock hadn't specified his reason for visiting. He never came to the morgue if it wasn't for a case or an experiment.

 **Need more body parts?** She texted back.

It was only a few moments before the reply came.

 **Need to consult you on a matter concerning our current case. -SH**

Sherlock (and John, presumably) needed to consult her? That was strange. What could they possibly need to consult _her_ on? She hadn't even known they had a case until now.

Molly only had to wait a few minutes before Sherlock entered the room, followed by John. She greeted them by beaming, only for her expression to fall slightly when she noticed John didn't return her grin. She wasn't surprised that Sherlock didn't (he never did), but John was always polite enough to return her smiles.

"Hello, Sherlock. Hello, John. You said you wanted to talk to me about…" Molly's sentence trailed off as her eyes focused on two figures behind Sherlock and John.

She felt her jaw fall open as she staggered back a few steps, staring at the two men that had just stepped into the room.

"Hey, Liz."

It couldn't be possible. She had left them behind. She had ran away, she had escaped. But somehow, some way, they had found her. She recognized Dean in an instant, and Sam… God, he'd grown tall.

The silence rang out in their ears, everyone staring at each other: Molly in horror; Dean in coldness; Sam in slightly shy friendliness (she suddenly realized they hadn't seen each other since he was a child); John in betrayal; and Sherlock in— well, Sherlock's facial features were the same as ever: cool and impassive.

They all stood there, looking at each other with different emotions on their faces, for what seemed like an eternity. No one seemed to want to shatter the silence, though they could all feel the tension in the room.

Finally, Sherlock was the one to shatter the quiet. "Well, this has certainly been an interesting and admittedly unexpected turn of events."

Molly opened and closed her mouth, unable to form words.

"What… how did you find me?" She choked out finally, speaking to her brothers.

"You want to be careful what you put online," Dean replied frostily.

"We saw a picture of you on an article about Sherlock Holmes," Sam explained at Molly's confused expression.

Molly was at a loss for words. She just stared at them, unable to formulate complete thoughts. She leaned against the table for support.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as ambushing," she heard Sam mutter. "I told you not to do it like this."

"Shut up," came Dean's response.

John cleared his throat. "Molly— er, Elizabeth— I think you owe us an explanation."

Molly shook her head. "Please, don't call me Elizabeth. I'm Molly now."

"Fine, then. Molly. Please tell us, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"John. Sherlock. I know you must hate me right now, and not without good reason. I promise, I'll tell you everything. But… can I just speak with Sam and Dean for a moment alone?"

John glanced at Sherlock, who had surprisingly stayed silent up to this point. It was obvious the smaller man was trying to keep his temper in check.

"Five minutes," Sherlock ordered briskly, and he strode from the room, followed after a moment by John.

Once the door was closed and they were alone, Molly turned and stared at her brothers. She had been jubilated to be free of the hunter lifestyle, but in leaving that behind she had also been forced to abandon her family. Now, here they were, and she didn't know exactly how to feel.

"You've gotten so big, Sam." The words were out of her mouth before she knew she was saying them. Sam smiled a little, but Dean's icy expression didn't falter.

"Really, Elizabeth? You go missing for years, we don't hear a peep from you, and now you're going to comment on Sam's height?"

"Dean…"

"How could you, Liz? How could you do that?"

"Because I knew that if you had been able to find me, you'd come and get me!" Molly defended.

"And would it have been so bad? Would it have been absolutely horrible to see your family?" Dean demanded.

"I just didn't want to come back! I hated being a hunter! All the cheap motels, all the skipping around towns, constantly looking over our shoulders, never having friends… how could you _not_ want to leave?"

"You sound like Sam."

"Well that proves something then, doesn't it? If both me and Sam wanted to leave, maybe there's not something wrong with _us._ Maybe the problem is _you._ "

"Guys, can we please not do this?"

Elizabeth and Dean had both apparently forgotten Sam was in the room. He was hit with a wave of sudden deja vu as he recalled being a child and watching Elizabeth and Dean argue just like they were doing now, more of the time than not about him, and forgetting he was even there.

"Sorry," Molly said, composing herself. "Look, Dean, it's not that I'm unhappy to see you. It's just… I made a promise to myself: no more hunting."

"We're not here to make you go back to hunting," Sam told her before Dean could speak, "We just wanted to see you."

Molly softened at her younger brother. "Do you two want to stay with me tonight?" She asked timidly.

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged stoically. "I guess so," Sam replied, "if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Molly smiled at Sam. Then she deflated, remembering the two men standing outside waiting for her. "What am I going to tell Sherlock and John?" She wondered aloud.

"The truth?" Suggested Sam.

Molly laughed humorlessly. "They would never believe it. I'll just tell them… the closest thing I can to the truth."

Taking a deep breath, Molly made her way to the door and opened it, looking fearfully at the two men standing there.

"I think you owe us one hell of an explanation."

* * *

It was thirty minutes and a cup of tea later that Molly, Sherlock, John, Sam, and Dean were all crammed into a booth at one of Molly's favorite cafe's.

"So, if I've got this right, you're saying that you're _actually_ American, and you ran away from your family when you were eighteen because you didn't want to be a car mechanic, and changed your identity to keep them from tracking you down?" John asked.

"Uh, yeah, that's pretty much it." Molly cringed, expecting John to shout at her, but he just leaned back and let out a long sigh.

"But... I could hear you shouting from outside, and I heard something about hunters."

Molly looked at her brothers in panic.

Dean came to her rescue. "Yeah, we were... also hunters. Yep, mechanics and hunters. Our old man would take us out and shoot... deer. We'd shoot deer and then come back home and fix cars.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly. Dean swallowed.

"Deer hunters and automobile technicians?" He asked, the sarcasm just barely perceptible in his voice.

"Um... yes?"

"Alright, then." Sherlock leaned forward. "Now why don't you tell me the truth?"

Molly sighed, deflating. A part of her wished Sam and Dean hadn't found her, so she wouldn't be in this mess now, but she really was pleased to see her brothers after all these years apart.

There was a long silence as Molly tried to think of what to tell her friends, but her mind was coming up blank. Meanwhile, John and Sherlock weren't getting any more patient as they waited.

"Alright," she began slowly, "I'm going to try to explain this to you as best I can. The thing is... my family, we weren't normal. We were actually pretty weird. Our dad, he would move us from place to place going on hunting trips. That's pretty much all we did. He was a... real hunting fanatic. He wanted us all to be hunters, and he was serious about it. That's why I ran off; I didn't want to be a hunter."

"I don't understand. What was the point of changing your entire identity and lying to us?" John asked.

"I wanted to leave my past behind. I wanted to forget about that girl." Molly looked at her friends desperately, feeling like a little girl caught doing something she wasn't supposed to and awaiting a scolding.

It took a little more time to persuade Sherlock and John to accept her story. Even as they left the cafe, Molly was positive Sherlock wasn't convinced. However, if he was doubtful, he didn't voice it. So, the five of them exited the cafe, Sherlock and John taking a cab to Baker Street and leaving Molly with her brothers to take their own. They stopped at the hotel Sam and Dean had been staying at, where the boys threw their clothes and various items into duffel bags and hurriedly checked out. They drove to Molly's flat (Molly paying the driver this time).

"Nice place," Sam commented, observing her tidy home.

"I've got a guest bedroom, but it's only got one bed. So someone's going to have to take the couch."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. Then, simultaneously, they held out their fists. For a split second, Molly ridiculously thought they were about to fistfight for it, but instead, they both bobbed their fists in the air three times, and Molly realized they were playing "rock, paper, scissors", a game she had been well-familiarized with in her youth. Dean ended up winning the bed, and Sam collapsed with resignation onto Molly's sofa.

She smiled. She supposed how she was feeling was a bit like not realizing you're hungry and then eating ravenously when food is set before you; she had tried her best to forget about her brothers, but now that they were here, she was elated. She hadn't been conscious of how much she had missed them over the years, but now she found herself noticing the absence of a dull ache in her chest she had managed to ignore for fourteen years.

 **A/N: I'm not sure I like this chapter, please review and tell me what you thought. Reviews, follows, and favorites encourage me to write, so if you want another chapter quickly, don't forget to do all that stuff. Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful darlings.**


	4. Chapter 4

It was about midnight when Molly was awoken by a yelp and a thud, followed by hushed voices.

She leapt out of her bed, grabbing the iron rod she kept next to it and sprinted out of the bedroom. She dashed into her living room to find the sofa empty. Molly began running towards her guest bedroom, her heart thudding in her chest as she began thinking of the creatures that may have broken into her flat, that could be killing her brothers that very moment—

She skidded to a stop in front of the guest bedroom, staring through the open door.

The scene before her might have seemed more ridiculous to her if not for the fact that it was the middle of the night and she was standing in her nightgown holding an iron rod and suspecting some evil being of murdering her brothers in their sleep.

Dean, who had apparently fallen out of the bed, was picking up the sheets from the floor, Sam standing on the other side of the bed and another man who she didn't recognize standing at the end of the bed.

"Cas, what have I told you about showing up in the middle of the night?" Dean was saying, sounding annoyed.

"Dean, this is important—"

"What the— who the hell are you?" Molly shrieked, brandishing her iron rod as if to beat the man away.

Both Sam and Dean's eyes snapped to her, looking like guilty little boys caught in the act of doing something wrong.

"Elizabeth— I mean, Molly— this is Castiel," Sam said, looking slightly sheepish.

"I don't care about his name," Molly said through gritted teeth, trying to keep from losing temper. Her panic was beginning to fade as she observed how comfortable Sam and Dean seemed. It appeared that they somehow knew the man. She closed her eyes, making an effort not to scream at them. "I just want to know why there's a _strange man standing in my flat._ " Molly noticed her American accent creeping into her voice.

"He's an angel," Dean explained simply.

Molly sighed. "Dean, I find your tenderness for your boyfriend truly heart-warming, but at this moment I don't really care—"

"Wha—? No! I meant he's literally _an angel._ "

"An angel?" Molly repeated, taken aback.

"Yep."

"Like, as in, from Heaven?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Um, hi, I'm—"

"Yes, I know who you are," Castiel stated, "You're Elizabeth Winchester, otherwise known as Molly Hooper."

"You don't need to do all the introductions. Come to think of it, also skip the getting-to-know-you phase, 'cause we might have a problem on our hands," Dean told her.

"As I was saying," Castiel began, "There are demons here in London. They've been possessing vessels."

"Demons? Here?" Asked Molly. Then she looked at Sam and Dean, her eyes widening. "Do you think it could be… _the_ demon? You know, the one who killed Mum?"

"He's dead," Dean dismissed.

"You killed it?" Molly asked incredulously. But Dean was already back to talking with Castiel.

"We need to get rid of them before it gets out of hand," Castiel was saying.

"So, we just find possessed people and exorcise them?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"One question," Dean cut in.

"Yes?"

"Can this wait 'til morning?"

Castiel stared at Dean.

"Elizabeth has nice mattresses!" Dean said defensively.

"The situation should not turn critical in the time it takes you to rest," Castiel told him, "But be prepared to fight when you awake. I'll be here."

Molly blinked and Castiel disappeared.

"What… what was that?" She demanded.

"Go to bed, Liz," Dean grumbled, lying back down in the bed.

"Dean, we're not kids. You can't tell me what to do anymore."

"Sam'll explain," Dean said.

"What? Why do I have to?" Sam demanded. "I'm tired too!"

"Come on, Sam," Molly said, glaring at Dean, "I'll make you some tea."

Molly led Sam to the kitchen. She made a kettle of tea and sat down at the table, motioning for Sam to do the same. They sat in the darkness while Molly stirred sugar into the teacups.

"So… Castiel?" Molly raised an eyebrow.

"What about him?" Asked Sam.

"He's an angel?"

"Yeah."

"How did you… meet?"

Sam hesitated. "It's complicated."

Molly studied Sam closely for a moment. The last time she had seen her younger brother he had been a skinny fourteen-year-old worrying about school and girls and things a normal fourteen-year-old should be worrying about, but also balancing being a hunter on top of it all. There was a different edge to him now. He seemed… tougher. He had a more muscular form than she remembered, and there was something in both his and Dean's eyes that made her think they had been through more than they were letting on.

"Did you ever make it to college?" She asked abruptly, suddenly recalling a memory of Sam telling her he wanted to be a lawyer.

"Yeah, for a while," Sam replied, "But… I left."

"Why? You were always a straight-A's kid."

"It wasn't because of my grades. I was actually pretty good," He said, smiling faintly. "But… Dean, he came and got me."

Molly scowled in the direction of her guest bedroom, where Dean was sleeping. "He shouldn't have done that! If you were happy, he shouldn't have forced you to go back to hunting!"

"He didn't force me," Sam said quickly, "I went with him on my own."

"But why? When we were kids you never shut up about going to school and quitting hunting."

"Something happened," Sam told her. He paused, staring at his cup of untouched tea. "My girlfriend died. It was the same demon that killed Mom."

"Oh, Sam…"

"Yeah. It was a while ago."

There was a silence and Molly took a sip of tea.

"So, does Castiel the angel just come 'round to warn you about demons?"

"Nah, he's a friend."

"You have an angel for a friend?"

"I told you, it's complicated."

Molly decided not to push her brother into talking if he didn't want to. They sat in silence for a while, but it wasn't cold or awkward. It was just like when they were children, and Dean would give them dinner and then leave them alone, and they'd just sit together in a companionable quiet.

"I'm really glad to see you, Sam," Molly said suddenly, voicing her thoughts.

"I'm glad to see you too," Sam replied, smiling. "And, for the record, I'm not mad at you. I know Dean's angry, but he'll get over it."

"He's just upset that I ran away. Little daddy's boy," she muttered.

Molly picked up both her and Sam's mugs and spilled Sam's un-drunk tea out (she knew he wouldn't drink it), placing the dishes in the sink to be washed in the morning.

"I'm headed for bed," she told Sam. "You can stay up if you want."

She left the kitchen and walked to her bedroom, instinctively poking her head into the guest bedroom on her way to check on Dean. She shook her head at herself. Dean was more than capable of taking care of himself. It was just her instinct to act like a mother towards them (especially Sam), even though Dean was the oldest. She had grown up being the only female in the family, and she had automatically stepped up as their mum.

Molly crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about her conversation with Sam. She wondered what he and Dean had been up to all this time. She would have to ask Dean about that. She hoped they hadn't gotten into too much trouble.

Molly's mind turned to Castiel's warning of demons, a shiver running down her spine. She hadn't dealt with any type of monster in years. The thought of demons showing up in London was frightening, to say the least. She had built up a life for herself here; she had people and things she cared about, and she didn't want to imagine them being harmed.

With these thoughts circling in her mind she eventually drifted off into a restless sleep, her dreams troubled and anxious.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry for the delay, I've been hit with a terrible case of writer's block. This chapter's mostly random filler, but I promise exciting stuff is coming. A huge thank-you to anyone who reviewed, I think I replied to everyone, but I'm very sorry if I missed you. I've been** **addressed with a few questions from readers, and I just wanted to clear some things up: Molly/Elizabeth is three years older than Sam and one year younger than Dean. The story takes place between Baskerville and Reichenbach for Sherlock, and mid-series eight for Supernatural. Also, this is not going to be a romance between any characters (although I can't ever resist a little Destiel hint here and there). One more thing before I end this astoundingly long authors note: Is anyone out there a** **beta reader? Even though I always read through each chapter multiple times before I post, an outside view can be very helpful. If you're willing to beta this story, let me know! Thank you so much for reading, and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Dean awoke foggily. He had been in a deep sleep, despite the night's interruptions. He slowly opened his eyes, half expecting Cas to be standing there waiting.

Dean glanced at the clock sitting on the bedside table. It was six thirty, a.m. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He crept out of the bedroom, not wishing to wake anybody, and into the living room. Sam was sprawled across the couch, his long legs hanging over the edge a bit, and snoring softly. Dean walked past his brother and into the kitchen, with the intention of looking for some coffee, but found he had been beat to the punch.

Elizabeth was seated at the table, fully dressed, sipping at a mug.

"Good morning," she greeted, turning the page of a magazine she was flipping through.

"What are you doing up?" Dean asked, beginning to rummage in her cupboards for more mugs.

Elizabeth looked up at him, quirking an eyebrow. "I have work," she said, as if it were obvious.

"Work?" Repeated Dean blankly.

"At the morgue. You don't remember?"

"What? You mean you're just going to go work at that hospital?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Dean, I told you already: I have absolutely no interest in hunting."

"So you're not going to help us get rid of the demons? You're just going to go to work and pretend everything's fine?" He demanded.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," she replied calmly.

"You can't do that!" Dean exploded. "You have to help—"

"No I don't!" Elizabeth yelled, her calm act cracking. "You can't make me do anything!"

Dean opened his mouth to shout something back, but was interrupted.

"Can you guys stop arguing for _two minutes?_ " A very irritated-looking Sam was standing in the doorway, glaring at his two elder siblings. "You haven't seen each other in years, and you're already at each other's throats again!"

"Sorry." Elizabeth looked legitimately apologetic as she sighed and looked down at her hands.

"Yeah, um… me too," Dean said gruffly, shuffling his feet.

"Look, Dean, I know you want me to help you. I know it must be hard for you to accept, but… I'm really done with hunting. I'm not going back."

Dean let out a long sigh, obviously trying to keep from arguing. There was an awkward silence during which nobody knew what to say.

"Hello." Everyone jumped in surprise as the silence was broken, and Elizabeth gave an unintentional squeak.

"I'm here," Castiel stated.

"Yeah, we can see that, Cas," Dean said.

"You appear unprepared," Castiel observed, eying the wrinkled shorts and tee-shirts Sam and Dean had slept in.

"Uh, yeah. Just give us a minute, Cas," Dean replied.

"As you wish."

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, "Let's go get ready."

Dean shut the door to his bedroom, pulling some clothes from his duffel bag and changing into them. He tucked his handgun into his jeans and pocketed the demon knife.

He exited the room and headed to the living room, where Sam was already waiting with Cas.

"You ready?" Asked Sam, standing up.

"Of course," Dean replied. "Last chance," he said, addressing Elizabeth. "You can come with us if you want."

"No," Elizabeth replied, "I'm going to the morgue."

"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged. In all honesty he wasn't just angry with her for not coming on the hunt; he was still resentful towards her for the fact that she had left them and broken off all contact.

"Let's go," Castiel said.

"Bye, Liz." Sam smiled at Elizabeth and she returned it gladly, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"Be careful," she told them.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," Dean said, giving her a hint of a smile.

"See you later," She replied, squeezing him briefly on his arm, looking earnestly into his eyes. "I mean it. You better come back whole."

* * *

It was the end of Molly's shift, and she sighed with relief as her watch beeped to alert her of that fact. She had hardly been able to focus all day. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn't help but worry. She didn't like the idea of Sam and Dean out there hunting demons. A part of her actually wanted to be there with them, to make sure they were safe, but she truly didn't want to go back to hunting.

 _They'll be fine_ , she thought as she pulled off her medical gloves with a snap. _They_ do _have an angel with them,_ she reasoned.

She checked her mobile phone for messages, and found herself disappointed to see there were no messages from Sherlock. She wondered how he and John were taking it. She imagined not well. Molly sighed as she put the phone away and left the hospital. She caught a cab home and tiredly stepped into her flat, hoping Sam and Dean were back already.

Molly froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before her.

Sam and Dean were standing in front of one of her chairs, a middle-aged man tied in it. Dean was gripping a knife, and Sam was holding a silver flask over the man threateningly.

"What are you doing?" Screeched Molly in terror.

Dean and Sam whirled around at the sound of her voice.

"Elizabeth! We didn't expect you home this early," Sam said.

"What are you doing with a guy strapped to my chair?" She demanded.

"It's not a man, it's a _demon_ ," Dean corrected, giving the demon a venomous look.

"That doesn't explain why he's tied up in my living room!" Molly exclaimed.

"We didn't have anywhere else to take it," Dean explained.

"But— you can't— you can't just bring a demon into my flat!" Molly yelled.

"What else were we supposed to do with it?" Demanded Dean.

"I don't know, you could—"

"We're almost done," Sam interrupted. "Just give us a few minutes."

Molly glared at her brothers. "You have ten minutes. And then I want him _out."_ She said angrily.

She left them and went to her bedroom, intent on reading a book to occupy her mind, but it was impossible to concentrate with the shouts coming from down the hall.

"Why are you here?" Dean yelled.

"I'll never tell!" The demon hissed, followed by a scream of pain.

"Where are the rest of your kind?" Dean demanded.

"Up your mother's—" The demon was cut off by another tormented outcry.

"WHERE ARE THE REST OF YOUR KIND?" Dean bellowed. The demon began to shriek in pure agony.

"Baker Street!" It finally cried out, followed by silence. Molly's heart skipped a beat. She ran from her bedroom into the living room, hoping she had heard incorrectly. It appeared she had not, as Sam and Dean were looking at each other with similar looks of alarm that she was sure were mirrored on her own face.

"What did you just say?" Asked Sam.

"Baker Street," the demon panted. "That's the only place I know."

"Sam." Dean nodded at the demon.

Sam began to speak in fluent Latin and the demon began to yell in pain again. Molly watched as black smoke poured from the man's mouth and disappeared, leaving the man limp.

Sam bent forward and placed a finger on the man's neck. "He's alive," he announced. "Just unconscious."

The man woke up in a matter of seconds, and after short questioning they learned he hadn't been lucid for most of possession and didn't know anything useful. They gave him some money for a cab and sent him on his way.

"Did he… did he say Baker Street?" Asked Molly in a quivering voice, although she already knew the answer.

"Elizabeth, you stay here… this guy," Dean ordered. "Sam and I will go to Baker Street."

"What? No, I'm coming to Baker Street!" Molly said.

"I thought you said you didn't want to hunt anymore," Dean told her.

"I don't," Molly growled, glowering at him. "But my friends are in danger. If Sherlock and John are in jeopardy, I need to help. I owe them that much."

Dean considered her for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "You can come. But you'll need this." He tossed her a silver flask like Sam's.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Holy water," Sam answered. "Burns 'em."

"This too." Dean handed her a dagger. "This won't kill them, but if you can slow down their vessel it could give Sam and me more time to kill them. Only this kills demons," Dean explained, holding up his own knife.

Molly took the dagger nervously, wondering if Dean meant for her to stab her friends if they were possessed. She hoped not, because she knew if it came to that she wouldn't be able to.

"Alright, everyone ready?" Asked Dean.

"Wait! Where's Castiel?" Molly questioned.

"Cas went to search for more demons while we questioned this one. I prayed to him, but we don't have time to wait for him. Don't worry, he'll come if there's an emergency."

Molly nodded nervously, thinking she would have felt better if they'd had an angel from heaven with them.

Molly followed Dean and Sam from the apartment, her heart fluttering and her hands shaking. She feared what she might find at Baker Street and a part of her wanted to back out, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon her friends when they needed her most.

The cab ride to Baker Street seemed too short for her, and before she knew it she and her brothers were standing at the door of 221B.

"Well, shall we?" Molly said shakily.

Dean didn't say anything, but she felt his hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort.

Dean raised a hand and knocked on the door. A moment later it was answered by Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, agents!" She greeted. "And Molly! Hello dear, what can I do for you?"

Before Molly could say anything, Sam took out his flask and unscrewed the lid, tipping it forward. Some of the clear liquid spilled out and onto Mrs. Hudson's blouse.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Sam apologized. "Looks like she's clean," He muttered to Molly and Dean.

"You'll have to excuse my partner, he's a klutz," Dean said.

"We need to see Sherlock and John," Molly cut in urgently.

"Is everything alright? You look awfully anxious."

"Yeah, of course. It's just… are they home?"

"Yes, I think so. Shall I let them know you're here?"

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," Dean said. "I believe they're expecting us."

The three of them stepped past Mrs. Hudson and up the stairs to Sherlock and John's flat. Molly saw both her brothers slip their hands inside their jackets, where she knew their blades were stored.

Dean raised a fist and pounded on the door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Came a voice from inside. A moment later John opened the door.

"Molly! Sam, Dean! What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Hi, John. Um… can we come in?" Asked Molly.

"Sure," John replied, opening the door wider and allowing them to step in.

Molly surveyed the room. Sherlock was seated in his chair, eyes closed and hands posed as if in prayer, a position that was quite familiar to her.

"Okay, Watson, I know you're not prepared for this, but you need to know something," Dean began.

"Wait, Dean," Molly interrupted. "Just… wait and make sure the demon wasn't lying."

Dean sighed in frustration. "Molly, why are you trying to keep this secret? Just tell them!"

"Tell us what?" Asked John.

"This is getting ridiculous," Dean muttered, digging his own flask from inside his jacket. He splashed John with the holy water.

"What was that?" Spluttered John. Dean, Sam, and Molly all looked at each other, then at Sherlock, who had not stirred from his position.

"It's him," Whispered Molly in horror.

"I would like someone to please tell me what is— WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

John lunged for Sam and Dean, who had both drawn their blades and were pointing them towards Sherlock as they slowly stepped closer, creeping towards him like one would approach a wild dog. Molly automatically grabbed John by the waist as he went for her brothers. Sam was now standing directly in front of Sherlock, Dean a few paces behind him.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, addressing Sherlock. "What do you want?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock replied lowly, looking up stonily at Sam.

"Oh, yes you do," Dean said. "Don't try to pretend, we know you're in there."

"What is he talking about?" Demanded John. "Molly! What are you doing?" Molly was still holding John, preventing him from attacking Sam and Dean. "You're all insane!"

"Shut up, Watson," Dean barked, causing John to bristle indignantly and resume shouting that they were crazy.

"Tell us why you're here," Sam commanded.

"You're being ridiculous! I demand you— gah!"

Sam had pulled out his flask of holy water and splashed Sherlock. He glared up at Sam with hatred, but the next moment his mouth stretched into a strangely creepy smile. He spread his arms out, as if admitting defeat.

"Oh well," He chuckled. "It seems I've been caught."

"Sherlock…" John was staring at the demon possessing Sherlock's body in dread. He knew something wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Sherlock's not here," Snapped the demon, whipping his head in John's direction with a glare. Sherlock's piercing blue eyes flicked to a black, and John gave an outcry of shock.

"Get out of Sherlock," Molly ordered, her voice wavering.

"Ah, sorry love, but I don't think so. It's quite comfortable in here, really. Mr. Holmes is a _wonderful_ host. Doesn't take very good care of his body, I'll grant you that, but the mind in simply brilliant. And quite strong, too; he's awake now. That doesn't matter much, though."

"Why did you pick him as a vessel?" Asked Dean.

The demon chuckled. "Why wouldn't I? You'd never harm this vessel, or poor Elizabeth would never forgive you."

Molly's arms dropped from John as she stared, slack-jawed, at the demon. This was her fault. The demon had picked Sherlock because it knew she wouldn't be able to hurt Sherlock's body.

"Who are you?" Sam asked the demon, spilling more holy water onto it when it stayed silent.

"Aziz!" It gasped. "My name is Aziz."

"Well, Aziz, we might not want to hurt Sherlock, but we can still get you out of him. Sam, the exorcism."

Sam began speaking in Latin, but the demon only laughed. It held out Sherlock's arm and pulled up a sleeve of his white shirt, revealing a fresh-looking tattoo of a symbol Molly had never seen before.

Dean swore.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's bound itself to him," Sam explained, "We can't exorcise him."

"Now, I'd suggest you leave," Aziz said.

"No way. We're not going anywhere 'til you leave Sherlock," Sam said defiantly.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Winchester. But you are."

Molly hardly had time to register Aziz slipping a hand into his interior coat pocket before he whipped a long silver knife out.

"Sammy!" She and Dean both shouted in unison. Molly began to run towards Sam, but in an instant she found herself standing in her own flat, along with her brothers, John, and Castiel. She looked at Sam, who had been inches from Aziz's blade just moments ago, and breathed a sigh of relief to see him standing unharmed next to Dean.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said. "That was close."

"You were _so close_ , Sam," Molly said weakly, her heart still pounding and her mind still spinning in fear that her brother had been stabbed.

Molly glanced around and spied John staggering towards her sofa and leaning on it for support.

"I don't— Sherlock— what…?"

"Oh, John! I'm so sorry," Molly exclaimed. "Here, why don't you take a seat."

One hour later, Molly was nursing her fourth cup of tea while John sat trying to take in everything she was saying.

"So… you hunt… demons?" He asked.

"Well, demons, ghosts… really any sort of monster there is."

"And they're… they're all real?"

"I'm sorry, John," Molly said, "But yes."

"And— and Sherlock? What's wrong with him?"

Molly sighed wearily. "He's possessed by a demon," She explained. "Castiel's an angel, he got us out of there."

"I can't… I don't…"

"I know, I know, it's a lot to take in," Molly said sympathetically. "Don't worry. We're going to get Sherlock back," She assured him.

Molly got take-out for dinner, but nobody was very hungry.

"Alright, boys, we've got one more body sleeping over tonight," Molly told her brothers. "John gets the guest room, alright?"

"But it was my turn for the bed!" Sam protested.

"John's been through more today than both of you," Molly said sharply. "You two can fight for the sofa, but John's getting the bed tonight."

"Fine," sighed Sam, raising a fist. Sam grinned when he won the sofa, and Dean was forced to lie down in a mound of blankets on the floor.

"Tomorrow, we're getting Aziz out of Sherlock," Molly ordered.

"Aye, aye, cap'n," Dean mumbled sleepily.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth. We'll save him," Sam said reassuringly.

Molly went to her own bedroom, but it was a long time before she was able to fall asleep. She couldn't help thinking of Sherlock, trapped in his body while Aziz did… whatever he was going to do with it.

"Don't worry, Sherlock," She whispered to the darkness. "We're coming."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, everyone. I've just had the worst time with writers block (Terrible excuse, I know). I'm off to visit some family soon, so it might be a while before the next update (sorry). Thank you so much for reading! Please review, I need your feedback on this chapter, as I'm not sure I did a good job with it. And remember, still looking for a beta...  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Short version: Not dead! Bet ya thought I was gone for good, huh?**

 **So, yeah, I'm back! A billion apologies for my absence. I can't believe it's been this long since I updated. I'm so sorry, everyone! I don't think I did an awesome job with this chapter, but I couldn't stand abandoning this story for any longer. I promise I'll make a real effort to update more regularly from now on. Okay, I should probably shut up now and just let you read.**

* * *

John didn't sleep a wink that night.

He stared up at the ceiling from Molly's guest bed, his mind running in circles. His first reaction to what Molly had told him— that Sherlock was possessed by a _demon_ , for Christ's sake!— was to assume it wasn't true. However, the practical part of his brain told him that, as ridiculously unbelievable as it seemed, it made sense. After all, he himself had witnessed Sherlock's eyes switch from their regular color to deadly black, he had watched as his friend become a completely different person… hell, he had been _teleported_ from his flat to Molly's. So, considering everything he had seen today, the fact that demons and angels could exist and even walk on Earth was logical.

It wasn't so much this fact itself that was bothering him so much as he lay in bed letting the night slip away.

He just couldn't get Sherlock's face out of his mind. Those clear blue eyes suddenly turning to black, that wicked smile, his attempt to stab Molly's brother. A monster was in Sherlock's body, and it was killing John.

He rolled over on his side, eyeing the analog clock on the bedside table. It was three in the morning. Still too early to get up, but John had given up any hope of actually going to sleep.

He wondered how you fought demons. Could they be killed? Would it involve harming Sherlock?

Dark thoughts ran through John's head as he continued to stare at the clock, counting the minutes that passed on it.

Eventually, he arose and made his way to the living room, where Molly's brothers were sitting, wide awake, polishing knives and talking in hushed voices. John cleared his throat to alert them of his presence.

"Hey, Watson," Dean greeted him, glancing up, seemingly unsurprised by John's appearance.

"Hi," was all John managed.

Sam patted the space on the couch next to him invitingly, and John sat down next to him.

"Can't sleep?" Sam asked sympathetically. Dean wordlessly handed John a knife and a cloth to polish it with.

John chuckled darkly as he accepted the knife. "My best friend is possessed by a demon," He replied. "What do you think?"

"Don't worry, John," Sam said, "We're gonna save Sherlock."

John stared levelly at him. "I don't need false reassurance, Sam," He told the younger Winchester. "I'm not Molly. I know you tell her that things are fine because she needs you to, and that's alright. But you don't have to sugarcoat things for me. Tell me honestly: Is Sherlock going to be alright?"

This time it was Dean who spoke up. "Honestly, John?" He said, and John noted Dean's switch from calling John by his surname to his first name. "I don't know. If we can find some way to get rid of that tattoo— we can burn him, cut it— we can exorcise Aziz. But if we can't…" Dean's sentence trailed off, and John understood the implication.

John nodded, swallowing. He appreciated Dean's honesty. He took a shaky deep breath. If they could remove the tattoo… if they could remove it, then Sherlock would be alright. An injury on his arm would be better than death.

Remove the tattoo. That was what John had to do. He couldn't fight with special magic knives and he couldn't speak Latin, but there was one thing he could do: find someway to get rid of the tattoo. He _would_ save Sherlock.

Molly awoke breathing heavily with her pulse racing. It took a moment for her disorientated mind to make sense of where she was and what was going on, having just awoken from a foggy but rather disturbing nightmare involving demons, angels, and Sherlock appearing regularly in the mix.

A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered the previous day. She jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed, hardly even glancing at the clothes she threw on. All she could think of was Sherlock, and the terrible guilt that formed as she thought of Aziz running around in his body.

When she entered the living room, Sam, Dean, and John were already up, all three cleaning weapons. Peering out the window, she saw that it was still dark out. None of them could have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. John looked terrible; but then, she supposed she probably didn't look very good either. Molly wondered what Aziz was doing to Sherlock's body now. She shuddered and banished the images from her mind.

"Hi, Molly," John greeted as he noticed her. There was a haunted look in his eyes, but there was also a steely determination that made Molly sure John was tough enough to handle this.

"You ready?" Asked Dean, standing up.

"No," John and Molly replied in unison.

"But let's go," John added, and Molly nodded her agreement.

Sam and Dean handed out weapons— holy water for everyone, and demon-killing knives for themselves, but John and Molly were given regular knives.

"Where's Cas?" Asked Molly, remembering the last time she had asked that question and they had left without him. This time she was definitely not going anywhere without the angel.

"Here."

John jumped and Molly couldn't help a little squeak escaping her as Castiel's voice came suddenly from behind them. Sam and Dean, though, showed no sign of surprise at his appearance. Molly wondered where Castiel went when he wasn't with them, but before she got a chance to ask, Dean gave Castiel a nod and the angel placed his hands on their shoulders. He disappeared with the brothers and then returned a moment later for John and Molly.

They appeared on the doorstep of 221B. There was a light rainfall coming down, dampening Molly's clothes. John wordlessly fished his key out of his pocket and began unlocking the door, fumbling a bit in the darkness. Checking her watch, Molly found that it was a bit past three in the morning. John quietly opened the door, and Dean held out a hand, silently commanding them not to go in. He poked his head inside, knife extended and ready to fight.

After he apparently decided it was safe to step indoors, he stepped through the doorway and motioned for the rest of them to follow. Molly glanced nervously at her brothers and John, then at Castiel. She wondered how bad this could really go, when they had a bloody angel on their side. Castiel didn't look like he was frightened, but then again, he didn't normally _look_ like he was anything.

As they slipped inside the quiet house, Molly winced at the sounds of the small group moving. Every footstep was like a stampede of elephants, and every creak of the floorboards seemed like a thousand voices screaming, _"We're here! Come and get us!"_ to the demon who was assumedly residing upstairs. She wondered if demons had super-hearing. If Aziz could hear her heart hammering in her chest.

They quietly followed Dean up the stairs and to the door, where he carefully wrapped his hand around the nob. Molly tightened her grip on the flask of holy water she was carrying and slipped her hand inside her jacket, feeling the smooth handle of the dagger her brothers had given her.

Dean turned to them and raised three fingers. He lowered one, then two, then—

He swung the door open, brandishing the demon knife, and looking around the room for a sign of Sherlock— that is, Aziz. There was, strangely, no one to be seen.

"Where… where is he?" Molly whispered, her voice quivering. Dean shook his head, surveying the area. It looked relatively undisturbed. Molly swallowed, hoping beyond hope that Aziz was at least still in the flat. How would they ever be able to find him if he was out somewhere in London, running around in Sherlock's body?

"Try the bedroom," John suggested quietly, pointing in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Nodding, Dean crept towards it, motioning for them to follow. He quietly grabbed the doorknob and flung it open, jumping into a defensive position. Molly, who had ended up in the rear of the party, stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over the shoulders of the group of men in front of her, but she couldn't see inside the darkened bedroom. However, from Dean's sharp intake of breath, she was able to theorize that Aziz was indeed inside the room, sending her heart into a fluttering fury.

"…Aziz?" Sam called softly, poking his head warily into the bedroom.

"Who's there?"

Molly's heart skipped a beat. In all her years of knowing Sherlock Holmes, she had never seen him truly afraid. But at that moment, he sounded downright terrified.

"Sherlock?" John sounded unsure of himself as he began stepping towards the sound of his friend's voice. "Is that you?"

"Don't listen to him, John," Dean said sharply. "Demons lie."

"It's me, John," Sherlock said. "That… that _thing_ is gone. It left."

Dean scoffed. "Gone, huh? Then why don't you come out here? Afraid of our holy water?"

Molly heard shuffling from inside the room and pictured Sherlock's lanky form getting up and moving towards them. A moment later she saw Sherlock, looking ragged and weak, standing in the doorway.

"Tell us something only Sherlock would know," John ordered.

"John!" Sherlock looked aghast. "Surely… you believe me…?" John remained silent, staring stonily at Sherlock. Visibly collected himself after a moment, Sherlock's eyes settled on Molly.

"Molly…"

He looked awful, unshaven and raggedy, but the same intensity and intelligence as always burned in his eyes. Against her will, Molly felt a blush begin to creep up her neck. She inwardly cursed herself for letting her emotions get the best of her in this situation.

" _You_ believe me, don't you?"

"This is getting ridiculous…" she heard Sam mutter.

" _Aaargh!"_

Sam had whisked out his flask of holy water and splashed Sherlock with it, causing an outcry of pain to escape him. Aziz— for they had confirmed that it was Aziz— thrust his arm toward Sam then whipped it violently to the side. Sam went flying through the air and crashed into a wall, slumping on the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, running towards his brother. Aziz thrust out a hand, and suddenly Dean was forced to become motionless.

Molly looked back up at Aziz, where a manic grin had spread across his features.

"Oh, well!" He cried. "I was _very_ close wasn't I?" He let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, poor Mr. Holmes! He is so _very_ worried for all of you— well, mostly for Doctor Watson and Miss Hooper. Quite strange for a man who claims to be a sociopath."

"You—" John lunged for the demon, a look of pure hatred on his features. With a lazy flick of his arm, Aziz sent John flying after Sam.

Sherlock— Aziz— laughed again, throwing his head back and practically cackling. "How I do love being Mr. Holmes!" He exclaimed. "Do you know how many women on the street I can get to swoon just by looking at them? And _you_ Miss Hooper— you're the very best one! The look on your face, you should have _seen_ it, oh, it was priceless!"

Molly was speechless, frozen by the shock, disbelief, and humiliation that she had fallen for Aziz's trick.

Aziz suddenly turned his features to completely serious. He looked into Molly's eyes and stage-whispered with intensity, "I love you, Molly Hooper."

Then, quick as before, he was back to grinning like a madman. "That's what I was _going_ to say," Aziz explained. "If your brother hadn't spoiled it." Aziz tossed Sam an annoyed expression. Molly looked over her shoulder at Sam, and began rushing towards her brother. Aziz extended a hand and she, like Dean, was suddenly unable to move.

"Oh, no, Miss Hooper, I want you right here," said Aziz. "You too, Dean," He added.

"This has gone on long enough."

Molly looked around to see Castiel moving toward Aziz.

"Oh, Castiel," Aziz smiled maliciously, "You might want to watch where you stand."

Aziz whipped out a match and lit it all in one fluid motion, dropping it on the floor. In the blink of an eye, a ring of fire spread around the angel.

"Holy oil!" Dean exclaimed angrily.

Aziz grinned. "That's right, Dean! You must admit, I _have_ done a rather good job of planning this all out, haven't I?" He said gleefully.

"What do you want?" Dean growled, choosing not to answer Aziz's question and struggling against the invisible bonds holding him in place. "Why are you doing this?"

"What makes you think I need a reason?" Aziz asked innocently, his smile widening even further. "Can't I just have some _fun?_ "

"Oh, come off it," Molly scoffed scornfully. "Just tell us what you want."

Aziz glared at her. "You Winchesters always have to spoil everything," he complained.

Dean smiled grimly. "It's what we do."

Aziz rolled his eyes. " _Fine_ ," he said dramatically. "What I want, Miss Hooper, is _you._ "

Molly stared at him in surprise. "Me?" She asked.

"Why do you want Elizabeth?" Dean questioned sharply.

"You've got to be joking!" The demon said incredulously. "Why do I want Elizabeth? Why do I want Elizabeth _Winchester?_ Because she's _Elizabeth Winchester_ , you idiot! She's _your_ long-lost sister! You Winchester boys have caused enough trouble as it is, can you imagine what it would be like with _another_ one of you? Well, we can, and we decided we don't want it happening. Little Elizabeth has always managed to stay quite out of trouble, but when we heard that her brothers had found her, we knew it was time to step in."

"You won't touch her," Dean said in a low, deadly voice. "You will not so much as lay a finger on my sister."

Aziz laughed. "And who's going to stop me? You?"

Aziz looked pointedly around the room, and they all copied him. Sam was still on the floor, evidently unconscious, Castiel appeared to be stuck in the ring of fire, and both Dean and Molly were being held by the demon's magic. A feeling of desperation began to wash over her. They were helpless. There was nothing they could do to stop the evil demon from doing whatever he wanted.

They had failed.

…Wait a moment…

Molly scanned the group again. Sam, Cas, Dean, herself… _John!_ John was missing. Molly's eyes widen and she cast a terrified glance at Aziz, afraid he would realize the same thing she had. He seemed, however, to be engrossed with congratulating himself on successfully incapacitating them. She looked around in alarm while attempting to appear casual at the same time. Though unnoticed by Aziz, Dean had apparently caught on to her distress. He raised his eyebrows in questioning, and she tried to wordlessly communicate her realization to him. Of course, it didn't work. It only succeeded in confusing him.

 _What?_ He mouthed.

Molly jerked her head around the room and gave Dean a look, hoping he would understand her meaning and take a close look around. Unfortunately, he didn't. He only gave her a blank look. She was concentrating on Dean so much she failed to notice Aziz watching them.

"What's this?" He asked, and she jumped. "Have I missed something?"

Molly and Dean both stayed silent.

" _Well?_ " Aziz demanded. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid! I know you're trying to plot something. You thought you could do it without me noticing?"

He glared at them, but Molly kept her mouth shut.

"I know you were planning something. Tell me."

Aziz had contorted Sherlock's face into a deadly look Molly had never seen on it before. She glanced down at his hand and realized he was holding a dagger. Had he always been holding it? How was she just noticing it now?

"Tell me, or I will—"

Aziz never finished his sentence as, seemingly from out of nowhere, John came hurdling toward him.

"GO BACK TO HELL!" John bellowed, brandishing a knife. Taken by surprise, Aziz was tackled to the floor, and John slashed wildly at Sherlock's arm where the tattoo was binding Aziz to him. Molly gasped as the blade finally met skin, destroying the design of the tattoo in one swift graze. Infuriated, Aziz let out a roar of frustration and punched John in the face. A moment later, however, Dean began shouting. It took Molly a moment to realize that her brother was speaking Latin.

Aziz turned sharply to look at him, his eyes flicking to black. Suddenly, black smoke began pouring from his mouth. He collapsed onto his knees as what appeared to be the very essence of the demon drained from Sherlock and dissipated.

The room was very silent for what seemed like hours to Molly before, at barely above a whisper, John's voice broke into the silence.

"Sherlock…?"

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review, tell me if you love it or hate it. Also, if anyone has any suggestion for the direction this story should go, I'd love to hear them! (Translation: PLEASE HELP ME I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK! Can I get some ideas and inspiration?)**

 **Again, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I promise the next update won't be far away!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Well, it's official: I'm a piece of shit.**

 **I'm so so so so so sorry, guys, I really don't have an excuse. I promised you a chapter was coming soon on the last author's note, and it's been way too long. I feel really terrible. That being said, I hope you'll at least enjoy this chapter. It's been awhile since I wrote these characters, but hopefully this won't be too bad. Thanks so much for your continued attention!**

The silence was louder than if all of them had been yelling at once.

They sat at Sherlock and John's kitchen table, nobody speaking. It was different from the silence Molly had suffered through when her brothers had burst into the morgue and they had all stood looking at each other, wondering what the explanation for their situation could possibly be. Then, it had been like they were quiet but all wanted to say something. It had been like they were all soundlessly screaming Now, it was as if no one was speaking because no one had anything to say. What _was_ there to say?

Sherlock sat with a cloth pressed against his arm where John had slashed away at the skin with his knife, and his was face unreadable. Molly's gaze slid to the figure behind Sherlock: Castiel the angel was standing, unlike the rest of them, and Molly was suddenly struck by how oddly similar their facial expressions were. Both of them looked completely serious, without a hint of emotion. No, that wasn't it. It was like there was an entire storm raging inside them, but invisible. Hidden from view, locked away from the prying eyes of outsiders. Sherlock wasn't staring at anything or anyone in particular, but Molly followed Castiel's gaze and saw that it was directed in her brothers; Dean, meanwhile, sat oblivious to the angel's scrutinizing look as he watched his little brother carefully. Sam had regained consciousness a few minutes after Aziz had been exorcised, and was now applying an icepack to his head (more to appease his older siblings than for his own benefit, as they had both pounced on him like snakes the moment he woke up and had viciously insisted on it). Molly glanced at John, who was sitting next to Sherlock. His gaze kept bouncing around, settling on each of them for a few moments before flicking to another person. Molly could sense his agitation, the adrenaline that was still pumping through his blood. She anticipated a breakdown soon enough, though. Then again, John had been a soldier. It was easy to underestimate the short, kind man, but Molly knew he was tough to his core.

And so they sat, nobody speaking. There had been a lot of long silences taking place in Molly's life lately, she mused. She wondered if they would ever all be on good speaking terms with each other, if they'd ever put this behind them. She didn't want to lose Sherlock and John. She just wanted everything to go back to the way it was before.

"Explain."

Molly jumped as the silence shattered, a gasp escaping her. She clutched her heart and looked over at Sherlock, who had spoken the single word. His smoldering gaze rested on her and she was again reminded of a raging storm. She wanted to recoil, but forced herself to sit up straight and meet Sherlock's eyes.

"That was a demon." Molly surprised herself at the steadiness in her voice. "He possessed you."

"Yes. I had gathered that much," replied Sherlock, with almost imperceptible dryness.

Of course. This was Sherlock Holmes they were dealing with. A recently possessed, most likely shaken Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock Holmes all the same.

"Right." Molly cleared her throat. "Well. He bound himself to your body with a—"

"Yes, yes, I _know_ this." An edge of impatience crept into his voice. "I was present."

"Then what do you— oh."

"Yes."

"Right."

"Yes."

"Okay, then. I'll tell you everything." She took a deep breath. "I lied." The words made Molly want to flinch, and she looked down at her hands in her lap. She knew she had betrayed her friends, she knew she had compromised their safety. The thought made her sick to her stomach. Nevertheless, she continued, "I was a hunter. But we didn't hunt elk, or whatever we told you we hunted. I hunted monsters."

Molly glanced quickly up at them. John's face was stony, as he had already heard all of this. Sherlock was looking at her steadily. She looked back down in shame. "My dad dragged us all around the country, made us help him with his hunts. We'd look up lore, set up protections, sometimes even help him kill the things. I hated it. I hated it so much, and all I wanted to do was get out of there. So I did. I ran away as soon as I could. I was in bad shape for awhile. I didn't have anywhere to go, anyone to turn to. I was homeless, and barely able to afford food to feed myself. I kept skipping around, never held a job for more than a few months, changed my name to Molly Hooper; I was terrified my dad would show up one day to drag me back into that world. But eventually I stopped watching my back so much, and settled down in a little town in the middle of nowhere. It took me a year to save up enough for a plane ticket, but eventually I did it. I came here, and I knew I was safe. I was homeless, friendless, jobless, and broke, but safe. Dad would look for me, I knew, but he wouldn't look for me all the way in England. I was finally free."

Molly was aware of everyone's eyes on her. Dean had stopped fussing over Sam and she could feel both her brothers' stares burning into her. But now that she had started, she couldn't stop the words from flowing out of her mouth. "I got a job here, I rented a little flat, and things got better. I was able to pay some of my way through school, and I got scholarships. What I didn't have I borrowed, and I paid that off once I graduated. I had a few casual jobs before I came here, but I eventually came to Bart's and started a career and met Sherlock and… well, that's it. That's everything. You know it all."

Silence settled amongst them again. Molly braved a tentative look at the group. Sam and Dean were staring wide-eyed at her, and John looked contemplative. He hadn't heard her entire story, she remembered, and neither had her brothers. But the one she cared about most at the moment wasn't any of them; it was Sherlock. He sat and looked at her, his expression unchanged. She wondered what was going on behind those intense eyes. Did he hate her? Or did he understand? Did he understand her horror at the possibility being found, the reasons for her extreme measures to insure its prevention? Was she forgiven?

"Lizzie…"

Molly looked back at Dean, whose usually hard features seemed to have melted into something between compassion and regret. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Molly wasn't quite sure exactly what he was apologizing for, this time it sounded genuine. He touched her arm hesitantly.

Tears sprung to her eyes and she quickly buried her face in Dean's shoulder, wrapping him up in a hug. They hadn't embraced like this since they were children— and she abruptly recalled with vivid clarity what must have been the last time they had been in this position.

 _They were on a werewolf hunt. Elizabeth hadn't wanted to come on the hunt— a girl from school had invited her over for dinner— but Dad had forced her. They had left Sam at the motel, however, and Elizabeth was jealous of him._

 _She and Dean had separated from their dad, and Dean was constantly reminding her to stay alert, but Elizabeth kept losing focus and letting her mind drift to other things— school, friends, boys…_

 _She heard Dean's shout before anything else. Seemingly out of nowhere, the werewolf had launched itself at her, knocking her to the ground with a cry. Dean leapt forward, stabbing the creature and killing it. He grabbed Elizabeth roughly by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She looked away from her brother's fierce face and down at her shoes while he inspected her up and down, examining her scraped knees and torn shirt._

 _"_ _I told you to be careful," he growled, and Elizabeth cringed. She prepared herself for the extensive lecture Dean was sure to deliver, but to her surprise, Dean grabbed her and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. "Don't ever do that again," he muttered into her hair,_

 _"_ _Sorry," she said meekly, sniffing._

 _Dean just squeezed her, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, nestling her head into Dean's shoulder. They stayed like that until Dad arrived at the scene, having heard the commotion. And if Elizabeth had let a few tears leak out of her eyes and onto Dean's jacket, he didn't comment on it._

Molly was catapulted out of the memory as suddenly as she had been thrust into it. "It's okay," she whispered. Dean had just wanted to protect her— that's all he'd ever tried to do.

She pulled away and turned back to John and Sherlock. She wiped her watering eyes and waited for them to say something. John was shifting in his seat, brow furrowed in thought. Molly looked at Sherlock, and he looked back. She felt naked and scared, all her defenses stripped down, every lie she'd ever told revealed, and nothing but the bare truth to protect her. She forced her eyes to meet his, even as she felt more tears slipping down her cheeks. She couldn't hold them back anymore, and she didn't bother trying to hide them. She was crying, all of tears she had been holding back spilling out now. She could feel the pleading desperation in her face as she stared at her friends, and she wondered if this was how it would all end— she wondered if this was the last time she would sit with them as their friend, she wondered if their relationship was so severely wounded that it would never heal. She had wrecked it. _Please,_ she thought. _I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me._

It was so minuscule that she wondered if she actually imagined the slightest softening of Sherlock's facial expression as they stared at each other. He held her eyes for a moment or two more. Then: "You're forgiven."

Molly felt herself sag in relief as she let out a long breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She was forgiven. Her lips twitched into a weak smile as she looked from Sherlock to John, who was apparently in agreement. His face was no longer the stony mask he'd been wearing all day— he looked once again like kindhearted John Watson, and Molly had never been more relieved in her life. She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.

 _Everything is going to be okay._

 **A/N: Again, sorry this took so long, but if you review I promise it makes me write 13785437682 times faster... xoxo**


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